


you

by louueeeh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, Sleeping around, dodie clark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 09:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11414631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louueeeh/pseuds/louueeeh
Summary: where Harry is hoping that it's not Louis. that it was never Louis.





	you

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the song 'you' by dodie on youtube! pretty angsty, my apologies. i just couldn't resist. hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
> 
> tumblr: louueeeh.tumblr.com

Harry can never forget the way his heart flipped when he met eyes with the special blue-eyed boy with the high cheekbones and smirking lips. The flip in his heart, like an engine revving alive, waking up to bring shocks of energy through Harry’s tiny 16-year-old body. The way his heart jumped away, tugging him forward, basically saying, _“Fall in love with him. You have to. **Look at him**.”_ But Harry knew better. They were in a competition. He promised to be numb, not to let his young heart be fooled by the smiles, the compliments. The X Factor was supposed to be serious business. But there was no escape from the small, delicate, boy once _One Direction_ was formed.

He promised he’d be numb, but somehow, he was the one. A pinch, a shock, a pull. Red ropes being thrown towards him, wrapping around the boy’s heart, just pulling Harry. _Why him? Why **you?**_

One simple brush of a hand, one hug, an arm hung over the shoulder. Just one touch made Harry swoon and sigh. Simple looks from across the table, a side look on the plane, a cheeky wink after a joke. He thought he was dying, the way this boy made Harry’s heart feel like it wanted to collapse and give up, or escape from his body and run away. He was 16. _Stupid, young._ He vowed not to say anything. Not yet.

He remembers that night before they were going to be sent off for the Up All Night Tour. Shaking hands and nervous breaths concealed in a small bed covers wrapped around the two, an attempt to feel safe. He remembers his hands brushing through his unruly curls, his whispers calming him down. He was nervous, of course, he was. The first tour, the start of his future career with these five amazing, talented boys. The beginning of his life, one to be shown to the public always. He was looking for empathy. Did he get it? He thought he did.

They kissed weeks later. A rushed, unexpected touch of the lips that somehow had Harry melting in a mess of sighs and curling toes. Tasted so sweet, never looked more real than he did right then. Electric blue eyes, pulling him in like the tide. He drowned, fell, tripped. Big mistake.

It was the most dysfunctional thing Harry had experienced. Because while they were touring the world, they still attempted to make the relationship normal. Which was stupid. Impossible. Hiding behind a woman and fake tweets and strategized seating and rules and nonsense. Harry hated it, and he knew he did too, but as it went on, it seemed like he didn’t care. It was wonderful when it wanted to be, but the moments were shattered by misunderstood words and too many drinks. A one-sided dependence. Harry needed him, he was like oxygen supply. An oxygen tank that gave out every few days, leaving Harry gasping and choking and dying, but when it would start up again, he never felt more refreshed, more at ease.

 _It isn’t love,_ Niall had said one night. Sipping on a cold beer, drunk beyond recognition, him and Harry alone. _You messed up, mate. He’s messing you up._ Harry secretly hoped he was right, but kept on with the relationship anyway. Pulling himself apart bit by bit for someone who only gave a crumb of whatever he wanted to give. He did it gladly. Broke himself into bite size pieces to feed to him, even though that feeling in the back of his head, the words _it isn’t love_ echoing in his empty brain were still there.

It ended as fast as it started. Harry cried. He didn’t. Harry screamed. He didn’t. Harry fought. He didn’t. Slamming doors and thrown clothes and permanent pain inked into both of their skin. Swords were down. Armor off. Battle was over. Harry wasn’t the one who lost. He thought it was him for some time, but he settled on the answer _it wasn’t love in the first place_.

Now, they live on different sides of the world. A distance so big but Harry wants it bigger. He could be in outer space right now, and he still wouldn’t think it’s enough. It’s been over two years yet he still struggles to suppress the memories of everything. The band is long gone now, a hiatus a few months too long, hanging by a string that they all decided to cut in a quick decision. Guess they were all tired of it. Now, he’s stuck in London, living in a house as big as a mansion, but so empty it’s terrifying to even walk around the kitchen at midnight. He tries to fill the void with oblivious men and women, taking everything but love from their poor mouths, licking through one by one like a starving man. And he is starving. Starving for something to fill the hole that boy made in his heart. His heart ran out of sellotape many years ago.

Someone is knowing his better side right now. He’s seen the papers, even though he tried desperately to blacklist everything to do with him. But he saw it one day, walking down the London streets, stumbling upon a newsstand, a magazine with his face plastered on it, yellow headlines looping Harry’s vision. He didn’t want to look, he didn’t need to. But he was there, smiling, crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his hand intertwined with a woman’s. A beautiful brunette with green eyes, and a smile to match his. Another tug of a string. He placed the magazine down and continued to walk, eyes hung low to the pavement. _Why did it have to be you?_

The next day, as he walked his visitor to the door, lips swollen, body tired, a robe draped over his naked body, he tried to deny the fact that he slept with this man because he had the same striking blue eyes and chestnut brown fringe. He tried to deny the fact that when he had his eyes closed, he imagined that it was _him_ moaning and writhing underneath him, that he didn’t imagine _his_ lips wrapped around his cock, _his_ hands tugging at Harry’s regrown curls. He dodged the kiss on the cheek that was coming towards him, quickly saying a goodbye before ushering the stranger outside. Once the door clicked close, he sunk down onto his knees, salty tears dripping from his chin and into his lap. He cried until he remembered who he was crying for, but it made it worse. He dragged himself back up to the soiled bed and burrowed into the sheets, his heart tired and worn out. He cried until he fell asleep.

He woke up to a phone call from Liam. When he answered, his voice was raw, a clear indication of sobbing, but Liam sidestepped it. He was inviting him to a reunion, an anniversary of when the legends One Direction were born. Harry agreed, knowing damn well he’s gonna leave early anyway. It’s just a dinner. He’s going to ignore him, act like he’s not miserable out of his mind. He fell back asleep.

And now he’s standing here, dressed up in a Gucci suit, brown curls pushed back, a layer of concealer underneath his eyes to hide the sadness hanging from there. He’s talking to Zayn and Liam, catching up on both of their lives, trying desperately not to turn towards the gaze burning at the back of his head. He’s not breaking this time.

A line from one of his songs pops into his head. _Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry too_. Aha.

Niall soon joins the conversation, all big laughs, and smiles, his hair full brown, his face not aged at all. He pulls Harry into a tight hug, and Harry sighs into him, hugging back even tighter. Niall is the only one he’s kept in touch with. Niall is the only one who knows about Harry’s empty chest. Knows about the fake dimpled smile he has to throw around. He loves Niall. He knows that.

Then, suddenly, there he is, dressed to the nines in a black suit, his hair grown out, slicked back as well. He didn’t shave, the stubble grazing his jawline and around his mouth. Eyes still so blue, fine lines around them, a sign of age but he doesn’t look an age after 25. He’s probably 30 now. Harry doesn't keep track anymore. His hands are wrapped around a champagne glass, rigid and sharp, yet Harry can recall how soft the pads of his fingertips are. They look at each other, Harry’s shoulders tensing as he sees him walk over.

Zayn, Liam, and Niall pull him into a hug as Harry takes a step away, not wanting to be pulled into it. And the boys understand. Zayn and Liam may not know as much as Niall, but they know how bad it had ended. Whatever it was. He hears them chat up a discussion, and Harry sips at his wine idly, not making an attempt to add or say anything. His eyes wander the restaurant, a small yet posh establishment decorated in sleek black furniture and crystal chandeliers. He hates it. Why did he agree to show up? He should leave now.

But as the thought conjures up in his head, he feels eyes on him, and he finds himself diving back into that sea of blue, finds himself wading stupidly in shark infested waters. He tenses, and he can see him tense up too. He purses his lips up into that smile that’s shaped up into a ‘v’, the fake one he gives when an interviewer asks a question that’s supposed to be funny but he does not find it funny. Harry’s about to throw up. Harry wants to run. _Run, run, run_.

“Hi, Harry,” he greets, voice cool and chilling, sending shivers down Harry’s back. He can feel the hairs on his neck stick up, can feel the goosebumps start to raise because he hasn’t heard his voice in _ages_ and he’s not quite sure if he missed it or not.

_You don’t miss it._

“Hi, Louis.”

And then, the smile breaks open. They’re hugging. How did that happen? Why is it happening? But as it’s happening, Harry can only think:

**_I really hope I don’t love[you.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfObl16Jjr8&t=192s)_  **


End file.
